Say It Somehow
by ChloeWeird
Summary: Greg's a talker in bed...much to Mycroft's confusion. "Did you really just call me baby?


A camera, a camera, Greg's kingdom for a camera. Even a crap cellphone camera would do, but alas, he'd left his mobile in his trousers.

Said trousers were currently in a crumpled heap across the floor of Mycroft's bedroom. They'd been flung there, not five minutes ago, along with the rest of his clothes(and most of Mycroft's). He still had his pants, but he'd thought they wouldn't last long.

However, his hands had stopped undoing the button on Mycroft's suit pants when the taller man gasped, and let out one of the most peculiar noises Greg had ever heard.

"What? What's wrong?" He'd demanded.

He really, _really_ wished for that camera.

Mycroft's oddly handsome, slightly befreckled face had contorted into one of the most alarming and _hilarious_ expressions Greg had ever seen, let alone on the usually stoic countenance of The Ice Man. The look was a curious mixture of amusement, confusion and abject horror. With a small bit of disgust, thrown in.

Greg tried to catch his breath, withdrawing his shaking hand from inside the waistband of Mycroft's perfectly starched trousers. He chanced another look at his companion's face, and had to bite the inside of his lip to keep from laughing. Mycroft had yet to unfreeze his expression from it's stuck position.

"If you keep making that face, it's gonna stay that way," he drawled, lifting his arms to drape them over his shiny new boyfriend's bare shoulders. "Didn't your mother ever tell you that?"

Mycroft shook his head, and visibly tried to get his emotions under control. A bit difficult, that, when you're half naked, and pressed up against an even more naked man, whose hard-on had yet to flag completely.

"Apologies, Greg. I simply...Uh." He trailed off when Greg started to press open-mouthed kisses down his slender throat. "It's only that I thought you..."

"Well, spit it out, man, we haven't got all night." He scraped his teeth gently on the pale skin just under Mycroft's prominent collar bone, then paused, and murmured, "Well...now that I think about it, we actually do have all night, but I thought you might want to sleep a bit before rushing off to save the country from ruin in the morning." He leaned in closer to lick the reddened spot where his teeth had been, when Mycroft finally got his voice back.

"Did you really just call me _baby_?" He blurted, sounding slightly out of breath.

Greg froze, and pulled back from his ministrations. "Hmm...Not sure. Maybe?"

He thought back on the last ten minutes or so, and not-so-vividly remembered when he might have thrown out the word. After barely making it off the couch in the posh living room, they'd managed to stop snogging long enough to pull both his and Mycroft's shirts off, before nearly doubling their speed to make up for the twenty seconds or so of lost time. Greg had managed to get his trousers undone and off remarkably quickly, for someone whose attention was pretty well fixed on keeping his mouth on another man's, sucking greedily on every part he could reach.

He recalled breaking away, briefly, to toss the garment to the side, before grasping Mycroft's soft hair with one hand, and gripping his hip to pull him closer with the other. At that point, he'd pressed his heated face into Mycroft's neck and attacked the tender flesh, occasionally coming up for air. His memory was a little bit fuzzier at that point, as the tall, lean body in front of him and been pressing close in all the right places, rippling ever so slightly and Mycroft's long fingers hands gripped his shoulders so tightly, his nails scoring his back, but not quite enough-

Ah, there it was.

"Yeah, I might have done." He mused, still loosely draping his arms on Mycroft's shoulders. "I might even have said 'yes, harder, baby.' I'm not really sure."

"Why?" The other man asked, looking and sounding just as baffled as he had before, but not quite as petrified, thank God.

"Well, I've always been a bit of a talker, really. Sorry. Can't ever seem to keep my mouth shut, unless it's too busy sucking-"

"No, no, that's perfectly fine. We all have our foibles." Mycroft interrupted. Trust him to still use words like 'foibles' while half-naked and blushing a tad at Greg's frankness. "I mean, why would you use an...endearment, like that. You never have before."

Greg pulled back to grip those lean hips again. He looked into Mycroft's eyes, trying to see as much of the man's thoughts as he could Greg's. He looked truly, genuinely surprised that his lover would think to call him something other than his given name. Had he never let anyone close enough to him that he would hear those types of careless, honest words of affection? It wouldn't surprise Greg at all, if he hadn't, but it still made him feel a bit disappointed for Mycroft. He needed to hear more of them. _Much_ more.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, we've never gone quite this far before. Is it a problem?" He asked, hoping for the answer he wanted. He started to release his lazy grasp on the man's hips, but Mycroft reached quickly hold his hands in place.

"No, it's fine. Perfectly alright, of course. Most agreeable, in fact." He cleared his throat, tidily.

Hmm, three 'okays'? He really was weirded out by this. Plus, his body had gone stiff again, quite different from the trembling, yielding limbs from minutes before.

"That's good. Very good." Removing his hands from Mycroft's, he returned to gently unfastening his lover's bespoke, pinstriped trousers, never taking his eyes away from the blue-grey gaze of the remarkable man he was well on his way to loving.

"Because, _dear,_ I don't think that I could stop." Greg pushed on Mycroft's chest, walked him back a few steps to the large bed, and didn't stop until he'd nudged him to lie down in the middle, on his back. The man went willingly. He was pliant, even when Greg followed him, lying half on top of him, with one leg between his relaxing thighs, pressing ever-so-slightly.

Greg brushed his lips against the satiny skin below Mycroft's ear, the pressed one cheek to his, and whispered, "Even if I could stop, _darling_, I wouldn't."

He could feel the pale skin beneath his cheek growing warmer at the words. He blew softly on the curve of his neck and shoulder, just to watch Mycroft shiver, like he always did. The seven or so inches between this man's ear and the middle of his shoulder, above his collarbone was, quite possibly, Greg's favourite half-foot of flesh in the entire world, at this moment.

He glanced down. Well, he decided, _almost_ his favourite.

Greg dragged his hand up the inside of a slightly spread thigh, relishing Mycroft's quiet hum of anticipation. He could have made him wait, just to watch him squirm a bit more, but he found he no longer had the strength. He grasped Mycroft's length through his silk boxers and stroked. God, Greg loved seeing him like this. He loved to hear the quick exhale and the tight cords of his throat as he tipped his head back. He moved his hand faster, and just a little harder.

"Because, _sweet_, I want you to hear exactly what you do to me. With your body and your voice and your damned amazing brain. You drive me mental, and I want you to know just how much."

He claimed Mycroft's mouth hard, swallowing his moan when Greg finally plunged his hand under the waistband of the boxers and pushed them down to grasp Mycroft's cock. He worked it slowly, feeling the body beside him rise to meet movements.

Soon, Mycroft's cool composure was a distant memory, his groans and harsh breaths sucking the air out of the room and the coherence from Greg's brain.

He kissed this brilliant human being with as much skill as he could muster, breaking contact only to encourage and praise him:

"That's right, pet, God, you're gorgeous."

"More, my love, not yet. You're amazing, give me more."

And finally, when the all-powerful Mycroft Holmes as a beautiful mess, sweaty, flushed and writing beneath him:

"Let it go. Now, come for me, baby."

Mycroft's yell sounded as if it was pulled from his body like a soul from Hell. Anguished, joyful, and loud enough to make Greg's ears ring. He spilled over Greg's hand and clutched his fingers into Greg's strong arms.

Then it was over, and only the sound of their heavy breath filled the small spaces between them, crackling with leftover heat and zinging with unspoken meaning. Mycroft finally shifted, and broke the silence. He reached for Greg's waist.

"Would you like me to-"

"No, it's fine. Tonight was for you. I can wait." He doubted the exhausted man could have done much anyway. He was boneless beneath Greg, pink, drowsy and completely unguarded. Perfect.

Greg brushed a final soft kiss over reddened, slightly bruised lips, and pulled a crumpled sheet over the two of them. Leaning over to the side, he flicked the switch on a Tiffany lamp, and plunged them both into darkness.

"Greg?"

"Yes, my love?" Love. He meant it. Whole heartedly.

"I care for you very deeply. I might even..." He didn't finish, but Greg knew what he was trying to say. His silky voice was weighted with drowsiness. "However, I don't know if I'll ever be able to properly return your affections so...vocally."

Greg smiled. "Oh, I know, sweet." He pulled Mycroft tight to his side, and laced their fingers together. "I'll just have to say enough for the both of us."


End file.
